


and twisted and deranged

by kaiju



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, M/M, Manipulative Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiju/pseuds/kaiju
Summary: For Percival, evil always seems to prevail over good.The thing is, though, he almost prefers it that way.





	1. don't you know? he's a fiend for you

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [没头脑和不高兴](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566468) by [annebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebaby/pseuds/annebaby)



> **Unbeta'd
> 
> Every fandom, even the Fantastic Beasts one, needs a Hogwarts AU.
> 
> I originally intended for this fic to be lighter, but... like all other GG/PG fics it went dark and I just couldn't help but let it go that way.

Percival’s fifth year at Ilvermorny starts off terribly.

This is most likely because his fifth year at Ilvermorny… isn’t exactly at Ilvermorny.

His mother decided that it would be a good idea – a great one, even – to surprise Percival by signing him up for a year abroad at Hogwarts, a wizarding school located miles and miles away from America. Of course, he’d heard of this school. Just about every young witch and wizard had. It’s regarded as one of the finest magical institutions in the wizarding world. Anyone would be lucky to study there. But that doesn’t mean Percival wasn’t furious when his mother told him he’d be staying there for his fifth year.

Every member of the Graves family has spent at least a year in a foreign school, where they learned to properly harness their powers and improve the bloodline further. It's a Graves family tradition - a rite of passage, you could even say. Even Gondulphus Graves, one of the original twelve Aurors of MACUSA, had spent a year abroad at Durmstrang, a school that rarely accepts international students. There, Gondulphus mastered wandless magic and excelled in the Dark Arts – a subject rarely conquered in the United States.

The difference between the Graves ancestors and Percival, however, is that their mothers _asked_ for their permissions before sending them off to a foreign school in the middle of nowhere.

It’s all incredibly overwhelming for a fifteen-year-old boy.

—

Travelling via The Hogwarts Express is nice, he supposes. There isn’t anything to do but stare out the window for the entire duration of the ride. Vast fields of green covered with flecks of yellow dandelions and a sky so pleasantly baby blue. Nothing at all like the urban landscape of New York which is covered in tall grey buildings and dark paved streets. It's like living inside one of those paintings in his father's office.

Tina’s sister Queenie would love this, he finds himself thinking. The third year Pukwudgie loves nature and all things beautiful. Tina, however, would probably be more excited about spending a day in Diagon Alley, exploring the strange British shops and novelty sights. Percival grumbles to himself. He misses his friends already.

Trolleys pass by every so often, and Percival becomes acquainted with the taste of chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. They’re so different from the sweets in America. All he’s ever had before are flavor-changing lollipops and spice-filled sodas. He munches on these newfound treats for the remainder of the ride.

Almost everyone points his accent out when he arrives. He talks weird, according to his new peers.

“An American accent! How _strange_!”

“Never heard it before. Me mum says to stay away from Americans. Says they're dishonest fellows.”

He doesn’t care, though. They can poke fun at him all they like. All he needs to do is work hard, learn some new skills, and he’ll be out in a jiffy.

Everyone gathers in the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony. Small, nervous first years shuffle around him, all wearing the same plain black robes he is. One by one they’re called up and sorted. The sorting hat shouts its decision, startling a few of the students, and then they go to sit with their Houses. Percival stands attentively, surveying the area as he waits for his name to be called out.

There’s an eerie feeling in the room that he can’t really place a finger on. A tingle, one that raises the hair on the back of his neck, washes over him. It's a chilling feeling, too. Like the gaze of someone whose blood runs cold. Percival shivers and turns.

An older boy stares at him from the other side of the room. His long, sharp face is framed by shoulder-length blonde hair, and his eyes are cold and calculating. There's almost no sign of emotion on his face. He’s wearing a Slytherin’s robes, Percival notices. But just as he’s about to glare at the boy, someone shouts his name.

“Graves, Percival!”

All eyes land on him, and the room turns quiet. Whispers erupt as Percival starts walking up the steps.

“It’s the American!”

“Graves? My father worked with a Graves before.”

“He’s sort of handsome, don’t you think?”

The Sorting Hat is placed on his head and he sits as still as possible, with a face like stone.

“Ah… Percival Graves. A young boy from a famous line of prestigious wizards. An American… Ilvermorny, is it? Wonderful school. So then - why are you here?” The hat wonders, voice trailing off.

Percival scoffs.

“I see. Mothers will do just about anything for their children. Now let’s take a look - intelligent, quick-witted, and tastefully talented. Yet adventurous and daring. You’ll do just about anything to prove your worth, won’t you? Well, then – Ravenclaw, it is!” The hat shouts.

Percival cracks a smile. He’s glad to have been sorted into Ravenclaw, a house he’s always admired. They share similar values to Horned Serpent, his house at Ilvermorny. Both yearn for wisdom and strive for excellence - two values that the Graves family takes great pride in.

Ravenclaws clap as he takes a seat at their table. They welcome him with open arms and congratulate him, patting him on the back. He hears whispers and murmurs around him, some skeptical about the presence of an American wizard in their house and others pleased to have such a talented young foreigner. Either way, he’s glad to have made such an impression.

But he still feels the same pair of eyes drilling into his skin. He tries to look around, eyes leaping around the room as they search for the blonde-haired, sharp-faced boy at the Slytherin table. But he comes up short. There doesn't seem to be any wizard of that description there.

—

History of Magic is his first class. The Professor is dull and he speaks with a voice so monotone that all of the students simply drown him out. It’s by no means any fun, but it’s where Percival makes his first friend.

His name is Newt, and he’s not a very good student – he says this himself. Percival can tell though, that Newt is bright and warm. With him he has a small Bowtruckle that hides in the hood of his robes throughout the lecture. Newt gently pokes at it every so often and whispers, which makes Percival wonder what else Newt could be hiding in there.

They sit together and Percival learns that Newt tends to get in trouble for his intense interest in magical creatures. The caretaker once caught him in the restricted section of the library, researching Basilisks, which are thought to be one of the deadliest creatures. They redacted twenty points from Hufflepuff because of him, and the other kids in his house have bullied him since.

"It's alright, though. I have a friend right here," Newt taps on his Bowtruckle's head. "Isn't that right, Pickett?"

"Are there any professors I should be worried about?" Percival asks.

"I wouldn't know, to be honest. None of them seem to like me much. Oh, but I do have a favorite. Professor Dumbledore - he teaches Transfiguration. He's awfully kind and he's always there to help students, with just about anything," Newt says, practically gushing.

"Thanks. That's good to know."

“But do watch out for some students,” Newt says, voice soft yet stern. “They’re very competitive here at Hogwarts. They’ll do just about anything to overcome others, especially someone like you.”

“I’m sure they aren’t too different from the ones at Ilvermorny,” Graves says.

“But do be careful,” Newt says, ignoring him.

Class ends and Percival says goodbye to Newt. Normally he'd be sad to part with his new friend, but he learns that they also share a few other classes together, so they’ll be seeing each other again later in the week.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. 

Percival performs well in all of his classes, which is nothing out of the ordinary. He particularly excels at Defence Against the Dark Arts and he’s quite happy with himself. It’s a staple subject in his family, considering the amount of Graves that are federal Aurors, and he’s proud to have talent in the area. He can’t help but think of how pleased his father will be to hear this.

—

“At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen,” the eagle knocker says.

“Stars,” Percival answers without missing a beat.

The door opens to the Ravenclaw common room. It’s a little emptier than usual, the typically airy room is windier and colder. The Prefect tells him that it’s because most students are exhausted after their first day of classes and have headed to bed early. Exhausted is an understatement, Percival thinks. He heads up to his dorm.

He doesn’t bother to take his robes off before falling face-flat on the bed. Percival's incredibly glad that they were kind enough to give him a single room. Maybe the elite, pureblood family lineage did come in handy.

Sighing, he melts into the sheets. Life at Hogwarts is, so far, very tiring. He suspects he’ll get used to it after his first week but right now – all he wants to do is sleep. It isn’t easy to get adjusted to an entirely new country, after all.

Lazily waving his wand, Percival undresses and fits himself into a pair of pajamas. He tucks himself into the warm bed, blankets thick and full. His body grows warmer and his eyes grow heavy but just as he’s about to fall asleep, he hears a tapping noise. Percival ignores it at first, believing it to be some kind of mind trick created out of fatigue but it happens again, louder this time. He waits for a couple of moments, just to see what'll happen. All of a sudden, it sounds like his window is being pummelled by heavy hail.

Grumbling, Percival throws his sheets off the bed and sits up.

At his window are ten owls, frantically tapping at the glass. Percival stares, in shock, as more owls appear – around thirty of them tap at his window, each trying to overcome the other.

“What the…”

With every step he takes forward, more owls arrive. And then he notices that they all have letters stuffed in between their toes. This must be some kind of sick joke, he thinks. A prank on the American kid, a weird Ravenclaw initiation, or just some British tradition.

Percival finally gets close enough to open his window and nearly a hundred owls fill his room. He tries not to shout in anger, in case he wakes the others. Instead, Percival ducks down, covering himself in his arms as he watches them fly in circles until they each find something to perch on. A white one sits on the knob of his door while a brown one settles itself on the edge of his bed. He pushes through the feathers with a hand out, reaching around until his fingers find the feet of an owl. Percival pulls the letter out from its toes.

The letter reads:

_I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Prepare yourself._

Percival makes a face.

It looks like it's supposed to be a threat, but not a very intimidating one, at least not to Percival. To him, it sounds more like a sick love letter. He crumples it up and throws it on the ground. Now, even more curious as to what the other letters read, he manages to pull out a letter from another owl. He opens it. It reads exactly the same as the first. Percival opens another one, and another. They all read the same thing, in the very same handwriting.

Whoever wrote these letters wants to make a big impression on Percival and for some reason, he thinks it has to do with the blonde boy at the sorting ceremony. But what would he want with Percival?

“ _Depulso_!” Percival sends the owls out of his room. They pour out of his window like a flood, dispersing once they return to the night sky.

Turning back, he looks at the state of his room and grimaces. Dozens of small feathers and letters are scattered all over the floor. He groans. It’s just his luck. His first day at Hogwarts and he's already found himself targeted by a bully.

—

Newt walks into Care of Magical Creatures ten minutes late – ironic, considering this is his favorite class. He quickly finds Percival and sits next to him. The Professor doesn’t even notice Newt’s tardiness as she rambles on about something completely unrelated to magical creatures.

“She’s absolutely out of her mind,” Newt whispers. “Haven’t had a decent class with her, not even once.”

Percival nods. If he listens very closely, he can make out the words “deathly” and “horcrux,” which just sounds like utter nonsense to him. She doesn’t even look at the students as she mumbles, her gaze focused on the ceiling instead. Rolling his eyes, Percival pulls out his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook and scribbles notes instead, drowning out the Professor.

Beside him, Newt babbles about Hippogriffs and Demiguises for the next hour. This is something Percival has gotten used to with all the time he's spent with Newt. By the time class is over, Percival has finished his homework for the next week and Newt ends his little spiel with a fact about Centaurs.

While Newt heads off to his next class, Percival decides to spend his break at the library.

Swiftly, he makes his way to his favorite corner of the library, eager for some alone time. It's small and quiet, not a good environment for more than one or two people - which is perfect for Percival because it's always empty during break periods.

He pulls out a wizard’s chess set with the intent to practice. Back at Ilvermorny, he and his close friend Seraphina would always play during breaks or lunch. Seraphina's smart, some would say she's smarter than him. She would beat him at chess seventy-five percent of the time, but that doesn’t stop him from practicing.

Percival's in the middle of a game when he feels a familiar chill.

“Bishop to E7,” someone says.

The Bishop moves to E7 and Percival looks up.

The blonde Slytherin boy from the sorting ceremony walks towards him with a poise so confident that it’s menacing. He stares down at Percival with an icy glare and upon closer examination, Percival notices that one eye is grey and the other is black. He finds himself unable to look away.

The older boy sits opposite from Percival, hands clasped on the table.

“I'm playing alone, if you couldn't tell,” Percival says, eyebrows furrowing.

“Knight to B2,” the older boy disregards him, doesn't even look at him.

Percival sighs and gets up, hands pushing down on the table. All of a sudden, the Slytherin pulls out his wand and points it at Percival. He gestures with his head, urging Percival to sit back down.

“We’re going to play a game together,” he says, with no emotion.

So Percival sits back down, not wanting to cause a scene in the library.

The two play quietly for a while, each knocking out an equal amount of pieces, skill levels almost matched. The older boy keeps his wand pointed at Percival, threateningly. And Percival has his hand in his pocket, clenched around his own wand – just in case.

“You sent me those owls, didn’t you?” Percival asks suddenly.

“And what if I did?”

“If you were expecting to scare me, it wasn’t very effective,” he says as a matter of fact. “More annoying, I’d say.”

“I didn’t send them to scare or annoy you,” the older boy says, eyes focussed on the game. They both watch as the pieces move.

Percival eyes him. “So you admit it. You _did_ send them. Why?”

“Checkmate.”

Shocked, Percival looks down at the board. His King is smashed, crushed into rubble as the other’s Queen animates itself back into its standard pose. Percival huffs, frustrated.

“You should pay more attention to what’s in front of you,” the Slytherin says, slipping out of his seat and then standing up. Percival looks up at him, baffled. “The name is Gellert Grindelwald. We’ll be seeing each other again soon, _Percy_.” 

Percival shudders at the way Gellert says his name. He watches as Gellert heads to the entrance of the library, and then gasps when he _disapparates_. Confused, Percival simply stares at his broken chess pieces. After a few moments alone, he starts packing up his chess set, getting ready to leave. The clock in the library chimes and Percival realizes he’s late to class. He rushes out, running as fast as he can.

He's... a little pissed. No - scratch that, he's _really_ pissed. Who does that asshole Gellert think he is? He thinks he can just waltz right into Percival's game, force him to play and then beat him? Percival stomps down the hall, face red.

And if he didn't want to annoy or intimidate Percival with those letters, what exactly were his intentions? "We'll be seeing each other again?" What does Gellert want with him?

—

As Gellert promised, the Slytherin makes his presence much more frequent and much louder.

Percival receives a Howler the next morning during breakfast. He’s thankful that it isn’t a Red Howler – one that screams the letter’s contents – because it’s from Gellert Grindelwald. The Howler recites the letter in a calm voice.

“Dear Percy, I know exactly what you’re thinking. You would be hard-pressed to want to get rid of me. I’ll be following your every move. Sincerely, Gellert.”

That's certainly unsettling, Percival thinks. To any other wizard, this would be appalling - frightening, even. To Percival, it's simply annoying.

Gellert must be well known, Percival thinks, because the students seated around him stare at him with both worry and concern in their eyes. Just what he needed, another thing to set him apart from the rest of the students at Hogwarts.

He grumbles and gathers his books to leave.

—

Percival receives some form of correspondence from Gellert every other day now.

Sometimes they're letters. They mostly recite the same things, things along the lines of: 'I'm watching you,' 'I'm following you.' But some of them comment on how Percival looks that day - 'I like how you've parted your hair today.' And some compliment his duelling stance, or even the way he writes his papers.

Sometimes he finds notes scribbled into his desk. Today, this note tells him the answers to a quiz he's supposed to take in his next class.

Now Percival has no idea how the older boy knows of his every move. He has no idea how Gellert knows what he's thinking inside of his head, but... it's a little flattering. That someone would take so much time to get to know Percival, even if it's in some kind of psychopathic way. Don't get him wrong, it's definitely annoying - creepy, too. But he's gotten used to it, so much so that he almost expects it now.

It's strange. Percival doesn't like to think about it, but sometimes he finds himself searching for Gellert. Any sign of his presence - physical, or not. It's not that he _wants_ to see him. It's not that he _wants_ contact with him either. Definitely not. He just wants to make sure Gellert isn't bothering anyone else, that's all. Because he can take the pestering and the teasing, he's strong enough. It doesn't affect his mentality or his work ethic. In fact, he's acing all of his classes.

Yes, he may get a little excited when he receives the odd Howler or hidden message, but that doesn't mean anything.

He walks down the hall in between classes, pushing and slipping through a sea of black robes. Percival turns and enters a corridor, and notices that it’s strangely empty, save for a group of students and a Professor staring at a wall. One student spots Percival standing alone at the end of the corridor and points at him.

“Look! There he is!”

They all turn to look at him and the Professor starts walking towards him, his long robes gliding across the floor. Percival can’t read the man’s expression, but he does recognize him as Newt’s favorite Professor – Professor Dumbledore.

“Don’t be startled. I have a feeling I know who did this,” Professor Dumbledore says, placing a hand on Percival’s shoulder, guiding him over to the wall.

“Did what?” Percival asks.

The crowd opens and Percival can see a dozen eyes staring at him. Some look at him with curiosity, others snicker and tease. He looks up at the wall and he's shocked - his eyes widen and his brows lift so high they almost reach his hairline. Carved into the thick, grey stone is Percival’s name accompanied with the words: I’m watching you.

Percival's cheeks heat up.

“So you know who did it too?” The Professor asks, smiling.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Percival shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’ll clean it up. I'm used to it.”

Dumbledore holds a hand in front of Percival, stopping him from pulling his wand out. He then waves his other hand over the wall and the words disappear, returning it back to untouched stone.

“Show’s over. Get to class, everyone.”

The students stare at Dumbledore in awe, and then murmur amongst each other as they start leaving one by one. Percival looks up at the Professor and mutters an apology.

“No need, dear boy. I simply found it strange. Gellert Grindelwald has never acted like this before. He’s a seventh year student – he should know better than to vandalize school property just to get someone’s attention,” Dumbledore says.

“I don’t know why he’s doing this. I don’t even know him,” Percival complains, avoiding eye contact with the Professor. He's still blushing, for a reason unknown to him.

Dumbledore smiles at him. “Oh, you’ll understand soon enough. Now, off to class with you.”

Percival has no idea what Professor Dumbledore means by that, but he nods, dumbfounded, and walks quickly down the now empty corridor.

—

“Good morning, Percy.”

Percival’s eyes jump open at the sound of Gellert’s voice, and he sits up immediately. His eyes take some time to adjust to the light in the room before they finally land on Gellert. The Slytherin sits in a chair across from Percival’s bed. His legs are crossed and he sits relaxed, like a prince without a care in the world.

“How did you get into the tower? You knew the riddle?” Percival squints at him.

“Something like that,” Gellert smiles devilishly. “I’ve been watching you closely.”

Percival blushes at that, but then he frowns.

There’s an odd feeling in the air and he knows that something isn’t quite right. He throws his sheets off the bed to find his legs bound together, magically. He looks up at Gellert with an exasperated expression, blush now red with anger. And then he notices the position of the sun outside of his window. In a panic, he checks his wristwatch.

He overslept.

Gellert must have deactivated his alarm or stolen it from him, or something, to stop him from waking up in time for class.

Percival searches for his wand frantically, first under the covers of his bed and on top of the bedside table, and then he’s bunny-hopping around the room as Gellert laughs at him. The floor rumbles every time Percival jumps, making Gellert laugh harder.

“Looking for this?” Gellert finally asks, holding Percival’s wand out.

“Give it back!” Percival lunges at Gellert, but he misses and falls, hitting the ground instead. Groaning, he rubs his aching chin.

“Did you really think it’d be that simple?”

Percival growls.

“Look. I’m late for class and if I don’t show up, the Professor’s going to tell my parents,” Percival says, struggling to stand. He wobbles and nearly falls over, but manages to get on his feet. Gellert makes his way to the other side of the room, twirling Percival’s wand in the air. Annoyed, Percival huffs, and hops over to Gellert.

“I’ll give you back your wand on one condition,” Gellert says. He side-steps each time Percival reaches for him and dangles the wand teasingly over Percival’s head. Percival jumps for the wand, arms reaching out to grab it but he’s much shorter than Gellert and it’s proving to be very difficult. Gellert waves the wand around before bringing it down, holding it in front of his face. Percival’s eyes follow the wand and he finds himself staring directly into Gellert’s eyes. “Accompany me to the Yule Ball.”

Percival blinks, flushing a deeper shade of red. He takes a moment to process what Gellert has just said. “Why in the world would I want to do that?! We hate each other.”

Gellert pauses. He stares blankly at Percival and then he scoffs, unimpressed, and paces around the room, examining Percival’s wand closely.

“I always did want a wand made of Wampus cat hair core. Those beasts are only native to the United States. Hm, and what else? Oh, I know. They’re featured in the folklore of various American native tribes. Am I right, Percy?” Gellert asks, nonchalantly pointing the wand at Percival as he continues to walk. “I’d be the only wizard in Hogwarts with a wand like this.”

 _He’s fucking crazy_ , Percival thinks. What does the Wampus cat have anything to do with this? 

Suddenly, Percival really wishes he had paid attention to his father’s lecture on wandless magic.

There’s a long silence between them as Percival broods in the corner of his dorm room, waddling like a penguin in an effort to stand straight. Gellert fakes a yawn and then checks his nails for dirt. “Really, Percy, it isn’t that difficult.”

The younger wizard takes a moment to think, even though he knows that the only way he’ll get out of this is by saying yes. So he sucks on his teeth, drumming up the courage to throw his dignity away by agreeing to the older boy’s insufferable demand.

“Fine,” Percival sighs, defeated. “I’ll go with you to the Yule Ball.”

Gellert smiles and it makes Percival shudder. He whispers a counter-curse and purple light tickles Percival’s legs, setting them free. Percival almost trips, but quickly regains his balance before snatching his wand out of Gellert’s outstretched hand.

“I would consider skipping this first class altogether if I were you. The Professor tends to make an example out of tardy students,” Gellert teases, walking to the door. “See you soon, _Percy_.”

Percival watches as the door gently closes. His mind is a puzzle, trying to piece whatever just happened together. It’s a trick. It _has_ to be. Gellert is probably forcing him to go just so he can torment Percival further. All of the annoying pranks were probably in preparation for this – Gellert’s final act as Percival’s bully. He's going to humiliate him at the Ball, ridicule him and make him look like a chump.

Sighing, Percival sits at the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. 

He can’t believe he’s being forced to attend Hogwart’s traditional Christmas Ball with a deranged madman.

—

Percival ends up skipping his first class.

He meets up with Newt later, in the Great Hall, for lunch. They sit away from other students, at a table near the door. It’s loud and bustling, a busy time now that students are excited to be finished with classes soon.

Newt tells Percival about what he missed in today’s lecture, but Percival’s mind can’t help but drift off to thoughts of Gellert. The older boy could be watching Percival right now and he wouldn’t even know it. He looks around the room, scanning desperately for even a glimpse of the Slytherin.

“– with Gellert Grindelwald.”

Percival’s ears perk up at the mention of Gellert. He looks at Newt. “Sorry, did you say something?"

“I said, people seem to be avoiding you more often than usual. And I’m assuming it has to do with Gellert Grindelwald,” Newt clarifies, unoffended by Percival’s clear lack of interest in what he had to say before Gellert was brought up.

“What makes you say that?” Percival asks.

“Well, he carved your name into a wall, for one. And I’ve heard he sends you Howlers every morning. Oh, and I’ve also heard that he once tried to pluck a hair from your head for a polyjuice potion,” Newt says.

Clearly, someone’s been spreading rumors already. Percival shakes his head.

“No, no. I mean, why do people avoid me because of Gellert?”

Newt fidgets a little, tugging on his yellow and black scarf as he sniffs for no particular reason. “Well, it’s just that – that everyone’s a little afraid of him. There’s rumors that he's been seen after hours in the forest, practicing the Dark Arts, which – which I think is quite worrying. He’s very intimidating, don’t you think?”

Percival thinks back to all of the annoying things Gellert has done to him.

“He’s more annoying than intimidating,” Percival says, shrugging, trying to play it cool. “I’m sure I’m not the only one he bothers.”

“No, definitely not. But you are the only one he flirts with,” Newt says, lightly petting his Bowtruckle on the head with the pad of his index finger.

Percival stares at Newt with wide eyes.

“Flirt?! You call what he does to me flirting?” Percival nearly shouts.

“Well… yes. People think you two are dating. Those Howlers _do_ sound like love letters."

He does have to admit, they do.

Newt continues. "Have you seen him bully others before? He sets first years on fire, he makes second years puke slugs. Just yesterday he blinded a sixth year right before a very important test,” Newt says, eyebrows lifting in sympathy. “A little while ago, he stole poor little Pickett here, and I only got him back after he forced me to tell him all I know about Wampus cats.”

Percival sighs. That explains Gellert’s extensive knowledge on the beast.

“Well, we aren't dating. He hates me, I'm sure of it. I'm just his latest target. This morning he cursed me - bound my legs together and stole my wand. He forced me to go to the Yule Ball with him in exchange for it,” Percival says, trying to convince Newt.

Newt gives Percival a look. One side of his mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “So he asked you to be his date to the Yule Ball? You don’t think that’s flirting?”

Percival flushes, hard. He's left speechless, unable to think of a response.

Class is about to start soon and Newt gets up to leave, waving Percival goodbye. Percival simply nods, mind stuck on processing the information he’s just learned. Flirting. Dating. The Yule Ball. He’s silent the entire walk to his next class, stepping down the hallway mindlessly. He doesn’t even notice when the ghost of Sir Nicholas passes through him.

“Take a look at this guy! He didn’t notice me at all!” The ghost barks laughter.

 _Is_ Gellert really flirting with him? Does Gellert _like_ him? His ears grow hot and red as he asks himself more questions. Does Gellert _genuinely_ want to take him to the Ball?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, a fair warning. This isn't going to be a very happy story - it's a little dark, but not too dark.


	2. simmer down and pucker up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Underage sexual activity

When he tells his mother about the Ball, she sends him his father’s old suit from his years at Ilvermorny. The ensemble is entirely black, save for a navy blue bowtie. The waistcoat is tight – it’s meant to be worn that way, his mother says in the letter that comes with the suit. It’s a little bit too big for him at the shoulders and the overcoat is way too long - the coattails hang only inches above the ground. Percival decides to keep his hair simple. He simply slicks his front bangs back, but no matter how hard he tries, small strands keep falling forward. 

His face, however, can’t seem to express anything other than a scowl.

“Well I think you look great, Percival,” Newt says brightly, mistaking Percival’s annoyance for self-consciousness. He looks at him through the mirror and smiles.

“It’s not that,” Percival says, shaking his head. “I’m worried about a certain Slytherin.”

“Ah.”

Percival turns to look at Newt, who’s dressed in a light blue suit. Around his neck is the yellow and black scarf that he can never seem to get rid of. And of course Pickett is there, hiding in between the folds of knit fabric, whimpering and whining whenever Newt ignores him.

“Now what would Gellert want with me at the Yule Ball?” Percival asks, staring at the floor as he paces in his room.

“I’m sure he just wants to dance – just like every other wizard with a crush,” Newt says.

Percival shudders at the word ‘crush,’ but burns red all the same.

“He does _not_ have a crush on me!” He hates how whiney he sounds.

Newt cocks his head to the side and shrugs. “Everyone else would say otherwise…” he whispers.

Annoyed, Percival pretends not to hear what Newt says. Instead, he continues pacing around his room, trying to think of all the ways Gellert could potentially humiliate him at the Ball.

—

They arrive a little late, but once they enter the Hall they head straight to the refreshment table to loiter.

Percival isn’t a fan of all the extravagance and folly. It isn’t pleasing at all. His family holds enough ceremonies and dances to last him a lifetime. After having to put up with all of those charades, he can’t seem to find any pleasure in dancing. No, he’s more of an all-business type of boy. He much prefers when the Great Hall holds duelling club or apparition classes. Newt must feel the same way about dances too, because he’s nervously avoiding watching the others dance. His eyes glance just about everywhere except the dance floor.

“Newt?”

Both boys turn around.

“Oh, hello Leta,” Newt blushes. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Leta laughs lightly. “Well, it _is_ the Yule Ball, after all.”

“Oh, yes. I suppose that’s right.”

The three of them stand there in an awkward silence.

Percival takes this as his cue to leave. He whispers Newt a good luck and then bids them both a good night before sitting down at an empty table. Students rush around him and he spots some unfamiliar faces, probably from other European wizarding schools. There are just so many people and he tries not to look into the crowd but he just can’t help it. He’s squinting, peering over countless heads as he searches for Gellert, but there’s no sign of the older boy. Percival pouts.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. 

“Good evening, Percy,” a breath suddenly tickles his neck.

Startled, Percival turns to see Gellert. He’s wearing a suit that's entirely black and his dress shoes give him a slight lift, which makes him look all the more menacing. His blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, accentuating his angular features and unique eyes. And he’s smiling, but it’s not a friendly smile – it’s more like one that a predator uses when it’s finally caught its prey. 

Chilling… but slightly charming. It’s slightly refreshing to see Gellert out of those Green and black robes, the ones that make him seem so soulless. Percival’s ashamed to admit it, but Gellert does look a little handsome, albeit frightfully so.

“Evening,” Percival grumbles.

Gellert pulls him up by the arm, forcing him to stand.

“This suit is far too big for you. But otherwise, you look more than presentable,” Gellert says, looking him up and down and pulling on loose areas of his suit. Percival jerks backward when Gellert reaches for his neck, but calms down once he realizes that Gellert is only trying to straighten his bowtie.

Percival’s heart races at their closeness. The way Gellert looks down at him without tilting his head makes him feel small, like a mouse. His eyes can't help but jump around the room, trying to avoid looking anywhere but straight ahead. Maybe Newt was right. Maybe Gellert _is_ intimidating.

Clearing his throat, Percival rolls his eyes and huffs. “Let’s get this over with.”

He expects to be dragged to the dance floor, where even more students arrive to dance, but instead he’s hauled out of the Hall and into a corridor. Gellert wraps his hand tightly around Percival’s upper arm, squeezing so hard that it hurts.

“Hey, what –”

They run faster and Gellert pulls him into _disapparition_. Percival feels his stomach twist and churn as he’s dragged into an invisible black hole. His ears fill with sounds of crackling and popping and his head feels like it’s being ripped to shreds. The whole process ends with a loud snap.

Suddenly, he’s outside, on the field in front of the school. Percival drops to his knees and coughs in an attempt to expel the nausea. His throat burns as bile threatens to leave his body. After what feels like hours of coughing, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits up, resting on his legs as he tries to catch his breath.

His eyes take some time to adjust to the darkness but once they do, he spots the Dark Forest just a few feet away from them.

“Get up,” Gellert says, facing away from him.

“What are we doing here?” Percival demands.

There’s no answer.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Percival tries to sound reasonable.

“I said get up!”

Percival stands, knees wobbly. He pats his leg pocket to make sure his wand is there, and to his relief, it is. He’s never actually been anywhere near the Dark Forest before, let alone outside on the field. Why would he ever think to leave the castle? It’s much more enjoyable to spend time either in the library or in the Ravenclaw common room, where it’s quiet and warm. 

It’s cold, he realizes. Freezing, actually. The fields are covered in banks of snow and it begins to seep into his suit and shoes. Percival shivers.

“Why are we here?” He asks, again.

“Don’t play dumb, Percy. I know what that Newt boy has been telling you. You know all about my experimenting with the Dark Arts,” Gellert says. “As you know, I’ve been watching you. Hell, I’ve known about you since your first year at Ilvermorny. Percival Graves, descendant of Gondulphus Graves – master of the Dark Arts. I was pleased to see that you’re just as talented, especially in the area of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Percival has no idea where Gellert is going with this.

“What’s your point?”

“There’s something in that forest that I need. Something _very_ difficult to obtain. Something guarded by extremely Dark forces – ones that even _I_ can’t defend against. So, I need the help of a talented young wizard,” Gellert uses his wand to tip Percival’s chin upwards.

Percival shakes his head, backing away and nearly tripping. “No, no. I’m not doing this. I could risk expulsion. My parents would _kill_ me.”

“If you go back, I’ll tell the Headmaster you were out here. I’ll tell them this was all your idea and they’ll expel you from _both_ schools. How would your parents like that?” Gellert threatens, stepping closer.

“Don’t kid yourself, Gellert. They’ll know the truth,” Percival scoffs, quickening his pace.

All of a sudden, Gellert points his wand at Percival. The tip glows bright yellow with tinges of green seeping through. Percival freezes. He knows exactly what this is.

“You wouldn’t,” Percival pales, heart beating rapidly.

“Oh, but I would. You see, I’ve cast the Imperius Curse before and I can cast it again, just as easily,” Gellert says, thrusting his wand forward.

Somehow, Gellert has forced him to walk in the direction of the forest. His wand keeps Percival moving, glowing brighter each time he threatens to cast the curse. The back of Percival’s foot hits a boulder in the snow and he stumbles, landing on his back. He yelps but manages to keep himself steady enough not to submerge into the foot of snow - which is harder than expected because he can barely see anything. Everything around them is dark, pitch-black except for the intense glow that comes from Gellert’s wand. 

It’s blinding.

Heart racing, Percival pulls his wand from his pocket, moving slowly so as not to alert Gellert. He makes a show of shielding his eyes from the light, squinting dramatically.

“Alright! I’ll do what you want,” Percival says. “Just put your wand away. I – I can’t see a thing.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Gellert pockets his wand. Just as he’s about to step forward, Percival swiftly uncovers his wand and aims it at Gellert. Taking a deep breath, he shouts.

“ _Flipendo_!”

Blue light streams from Percival’s wand in a burst, knocking Gellert back as the spell hits his chest. He flies backwards, body folded in half.

In a rush, Percival pushes himself off the ground and makes a run for the castle. He conjures a stream of hot air from his wand to help melt the snow in front of him. But it only sets him back, slowing him down as his feet drown in deep puddles of water. The bottom half of his suit is soaked, weighing down on his legs. Frantically, Percival tries to dry himself off and he barely notices Gellert stalking him from behind.

A purple flame suddenly slashes through Percival’s lower half and his legs collapse in on themselves.

He screams – not because it’s painful, but because of the shock it puts him through. His legs feel paralyzed - numb, as he drops. Percival manages not to fall face first into the snow by sticking his hands out in front of him, but they only do so much. He winces as they dig into the sharp gravel and icy grass. Percival rolls his body to lie on his side, suit fully covered in snow as he tries desperately to spot Gellert, wand pointing in all directions.

“That was impressive,” Gellert hums. He’s clutching onto his stomach but other than that he looks perfectly sound. “Quicker than any Ravenclaw and braver than any Gryffindor.”

I’m going to die here, Percival thinks. He watches as Gellert closes the gap between them as he marches over to Percival.

“Don’t worry. I’ve only twisted several nerves and muscles in your legs. They’ll heal in a matter of days,” Gellert says. “But I’m _very_ impressed. You managed to use a simple jinx to knock me off my legs. Nobody’s ever done that before.”

“I can do it again if you want me to,” Percival spits.

“Merlin, you’re still so _feisty_. I’ve always loved that about you,” Gellert says, crouching to look Percival in the eyes. He comes even closer, until they’re nearly face to face. “Even like this – damaged and dirtied – you still manage to look so dashing. There really isn’t anyone in Hogwarts like you.”

Percival recoils, confused but at the same time excited, by the older boy’s sudden advance. 

Unconsciously, he licks his lips. “What are you doing?” It doesn’t come out as rough as he wants it to – it sounds more like a rushed whisper, needy and disoriented.

“Don’t forget Percival, I’ve been watching you every day since you got here. I know we _both_ want this.”

Instead of hexing or cursing him like Percival thought he would, Gellert leans down and brushes stray hairs away from Percival’s face. It’s an oddly gentle, foreign feeling. Percival pauses as he tries to make sense of Gellert’s actions. His heart no longer beats from fear, but from nervousness. Dazed, he thinks deeply about what Gellert says. 

He _does_ want this.

They’re only inches apart, eyes locked and shallow breaths mixing. Percival swallows, and then he finds himself closing his eyes and tilting his head.

Gellert’s hand lifts Percival’s chin upwards, but just as he’s about to lean in, they hear shouting.

“Percival!” It’s Newt’s voice. With him are several Professors, including Professor Dumbledore. They all hurry towards him.

Cursing, Gellert abruptly stands. He _disapparates_ and leaves Percival in the middle of the field. Suddenly, Percival remembers the pain that’s shooting up his legs and he groans, clutching his swollen calf. The rest of his body grows numb as the freezing cold catches up to his nerves. He shivers, teeth chattering as he curls in on himself, trying to warm his body as best as he can. Cotton fills his head and the world starts spinning.

“He’s hurt!”

All he can make out is a flurry of robes and boots trampling in the snow before everything turns pitch black.

—

“You’re awake.”

Newt smiles down at him, his muffler wrapped tightly around his neck with Pickett sitting snuggly within it. Percival can’t even begin to explain how glad he is to see such an ordinary sight.

But he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he sits up and surveys his surroundings – a large room with flat white beds, all of them empty. He’s in the hospital wing.

“How long have I been out?” His voice is groggy and his tongue feels dry. Percival clears his throat and Newt offers him a glass of water, which he takes readily.

“Only about four days,” Newt says this like it isn’t a problem. He points to the small table beside Percival’s bed, where his wand sits on top of. “You dropped your wand when you fainted so I went and found it for you.”

“Thanks, Newt.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome. And also, the nurse told me to tell you not to move your legs. You were hit with an unknown curse – one that jumbles your muscles, but you’ll be fine, she said. They just need some time to heal,” Newt says.

Percival nods.

Newt chews on the inside of his mouth. “Some bad news though. They haven’t found Gellert Grindelwald yet. Professor Dumbledore supposes he’s still around Hogwarts, maybe even lurking in the dark forest,” he chuckles nervously, trying to lighten the mood. “But he hasn’t shown up to the Slytherin common room yet. And nobody’s seen him since the night of the Ball.”

Percival pauses at the mention of Gellert’s name. His ears burn as he remembers the intimate moment they shared just before he fainted.

“But – but don’t worry! I’m sure they’ll find him soon and the school will take care of him,” Newt says, mistaking Percival’s feelings once again.

“Yeah… I hope so.”

Now that the hard part’s over, Newt begins to tell Percival everything he’s missed since the Christmas holiday break started. Newt decided to stay at Hogwarts this year because he needed the library to research more magical creatures. And besides, he’d rather spend time looking after his injured friend than return home to do nothing for two weeks. Percival appreciates this, very much. He likes Newt. He’s dedicated to what he loves and he’s a great friend. Although sometimes he can talk a little bit too much.

He also informs Percival about a rumor that's going around. Apparently, he and Grindelwald are scheming something dark together - a plan to take over Hogwarts. But Newt tells him not to worry because they’re just that – rumors. Percival rolls his eyes at the immaturity of the other students.

“It’s getting late. I should probably let you rest,” Newt says. He leaves just before curfew starts, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he waves Percival goodbye.

The door shuts, probably louder than Newt intended, and it leaves Percival’s ears ringing. There’s a sudden chill in the room and he guesses that it’s just a draft, but he knows by now that it’s much more than that. 

“I thought he’d never leave.”

Percival turns.

“Gellert,” he knits his brows together. Pushing at the sheets, Percival tries to move, tries to get up to fight or do something, but he feels a stabbing sensation in his leg and he yelps. Gellert places a hand on Percival’s shoulder and gently pushes him back down, shushing him.

“I’m not here to hurt you or anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, actually,” Gellert kneels on the floor beside Percival’s bed and strokes his leg tenderly. “I’m sure you remember what happened before we were so rudely interrupted.”

Blushing, Percival stares – his eyes tense. “Yeah. What of it?”

Gellert smiles and pretends not to notice the redness that colours the younger boy’s face.

“Well, did you like it?”

There’s a pause.

Percival flushes deeper, blush reaching all the way to his ears.

“…What if I said yes?”

“Would you like to continue?” Gellert’s voice is low and suggestive.

He didn’t think it humanly possible to blush an even deeper red. Percival feels like he’s on fire. His heart beats so loudly that he’s sure Gellert can hear it. It takes him some time to make sense of the situation, which he figures doesn’t make sense at all. All he knows is that he wants this.

“Yeah – yes,” Percival says, trying not to sound eager.

Gellert swoops down and pecks his lips once, twice, before lengthening the kiss. Heat pools in Percival’s belly as he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes forward. He leans on his elbow and then raises his other hand to grasp Gellert’s arm. The kiss starts off slow, but gradually becomes rushed. Gellert pushes against Percival’s lips with his tongue and Percival complies, parting his lips.

He’s only ever done this once before – it was a dare, and it surely didn’t involve any tongue. During third year, Percival lost a bet to Tina and had to peck Seraphina on the lips during the Ilvermorny President’s Day dance. Needless to say, it didn’t go too well. Queenie had to treat the bruise on his cheek for several hours. Tina had laughed at him for almost a month.

So it’s absolutely nerve-wracking what they’re doing right now. What makes Percival even more anxious is that Gellert seems to be an expert. His mouth overpowers Percival’s, completely dominating the kiss.

Percival whimpers low in his throat and Gellert starts slowing down to accommodate him.

With the lightest of touches, Gellert places a hand on Percival’s chest and entangles his other hand in Percival’s hair. He strokes his hair tenderly, tucking strands behind his ear. All of this makes Percival feel numb.

The hand resting on Percival’s chest begins pressing down on him, long fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Gellert only open the bottom half of his shirt, creating an opening that he uses to spreads his hand over the skin of Percival’s stomach. Percival twitches when Gellert’s hand suddenly twists and glides down, sliding under his drawstring pants. He grips the older boy’s arm tighter.

“Relax. It’ll make things easier,” Gellert whispers against his lips.

Percival nods and unclenches. “Okay.”

Looking down from above, Percival feels dizzy as he watches Gellert’s hand fold around his cock. His breath hitches, making Gellert chuckle. Percival’s eyes follow the movement of Gellert’s hand – up and down, up and down. His cock quickly hardens, and he’s leaking already. 

In an instant, he’s completely forgotten about the pain in his legs.

And then Gellert’s lips are on his again. Their bodies are closer this time, and they kiss deeper – mouths open and wet, tongues twisting fervently. Percival clutches Gellert’s shoulders with both hands now, shuddering as the older boy continues with his ministrations. Gellert uses his index finger to toy with the head of Percival’s cock, rubbing the pre-come along his length before quickening his pace. Every so often, Gellert’s grip turns vice-like around the base of his cock, teasing Percival with the idea of orgasm. His body shakes.

Of course, he’s aware – so painfully aware of the control that Gellert has over him. The boy is bigger than him in every way – he’s older than him, physically larger, and his magic is much darker and more powerful than his. 

He _hates_ it. He hates how much he enjoys it. 

Percival digs his fingers into Gellert’s robes, panting. He’s close. So close that he wants to _beg_ Gellert to let him come, but he can’t bring himself to abandon his dignity like that. Gellert twists his fist around Percival’s cock, squeezing and running his thumb along the shaft. 

Gellert breaks the kiss to focus on the task at hand. He loosens his grip and then strokes Percival in fluid motions as he watches him closely. Percival bites his lower lip to keep from moaning.

“Come,” Gellert says. “For me.”

Those words are all it takes for Percival.

He gasps, squirming on the bed as he comes. His vision grows blurry, eyes fluttering like mad. After he finishes, he lets go of Gellert and falls back to his bed, panting. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, recuperating, and then he looks down at the mess. Come is smeared onto the inside of his pants – sticky and hot, but most of it is in Gellert’s hand.

Glancing to the side, Percival catches Gellert staring at his dirtied hand, rubbing the come in between his fingers – almost like he’s inspecting it. Percival blushes, embarrassed.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” Gellert whispers quietly, removing all evidence of Percival’s pleasure.

Out of breath, Percival sits up and reaches for Gellert. He tries to slip his hand into the older boy’s trousers but Gellert stands, shrugging Percival off.

“But what about you?” Percival asks.

“I’m fine.”

Percival blinks. He looks Gellert up and down. The Slytherin looks the same as always. Both his hair and clothes are perfectly in place and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of arousal at all. The only indication of anything close to lust is his face, as his usually ghostly white skin is tinted pink and his lips are swollen red. Gellert looks statuesque compared to Percival, who looks like an utter mess – skin crimson and hot, hair soaked in sweat.

“I don’t understand.”

Gellert uses his wand to wrap Percival in his blanket, gently tucking him in. Without warning, he’s hit with an intense wave of exhaustion and his body relaxes into the bed.

“I like you, Percival,” Gellert says. His voice is sharp, as if he’s stating a fact. “And I know you like me too. Just keep in mind what I do for you… how much I _care_ about you. I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay my kindness some day.”

Percival wants so desperately to respond to what sounds like a threat, but he finds himself dozing off, eyelids unmovably heavy.

“Recover well, Percy. And don’t forget – I _need_ you.”

—

By the time he’s out of the infirmary, there are only a few days left of Christmas break. Percival originally intended on going back home for the holidays, but those plans fell after the incident.

“Percy, honey. I hope you’re healing well. Christmas just isn’t the same without you. Your father and I are very worried, but we know that you’re a strong boy and that you’re ready to challenge the world. Professor Dumbledore told us all about what happened at the Ball, which is why we’ve decided to gift you with something that is very valuable to the family. But please, stay out of trouble. Love, Mom and Dad,” the howler slowly closes and then burns itself, leaving a pile of soot.

He stares at the gift his parents mentioned in the letter. It’s a silver locket – an old family heirloom engraved with a ‘G’ for Graves. Percival’s never touched the locket, never seen it either. He’s only ever heard of it from his father. 

The Graves family locket is used to ward off against Dark forces, protecting the wearer and those near it from terrible evils. And _only_ members of the Graves family can use it. Its activation process is tricky, but necessary. A Graves must touch the center of the locket with a finger coated in their own blood and only then will it produce a ward that is both protective and defensive. But if used excessively, the locket will shatter and the ward will temporarily reverse its power, exposing the user to amplified levels of Dark forces.

“What’s that? I’ve never seen it before,” Newt asks from beside him.

“It’s just an old family heirloom. Not that special,” Percival shrugs. “What did you get for Christmas?”

Newt pulls out a box – it’s small, probably around the size of a ring case. Inside it is an egg, gently wrapped in velvet cloth.

“Isn’t it nice? There’s only one problem. I have no idea what it is.”

"We could always go find out."

The two boys spend the rest of the holidays exploring the library, reading up on ancient texts and learning new things about magical creatures. Other times, they go outside and play in the snow, practice their magic, and even go hunting for interesting herbs or plants – things that Percival would usually never do in his spare time.

It’s the most fun he's had since he got here.

But even with all the fun and games, only one thing stands out in his mind. One person, to be exact.

He hasn’t seen Gellert since he was hospitalized.

'Refreshing' – is one word he uses to describe the feeling. But 'yearn' is another. Desire. Need. _Want_. He actually _misses_ Gellert’s presence. The absence of the usual air of tension should bring him relief but instead, it makes Percival feel insecure and vulnerable. Like his metaphorical security blanket is gone. Like he can't trust anyone around him. Like he needs Gellert to watch him at all times.

Like he’s missing a part of himself.


	3. a very necessary evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should just point out that this will not have a happy ending (might depend on what your definition of "happy" is). That being said, it won't be unrequited love either.

Finally, Gellert thinks as he watches Percival receive the locket from his parents.

It’s all coming together now.

—

“A Seer.”

His ability lets him peer into the future – the more immediate future. But sometimes he sees things that are meant to happen years ahead. They’re muffled and blurred, but he knows that they’re far off in time. He can just tell. As he grows older he finds that his visions become clearer and much more frequent. 

The first vision happened when he was eleven, a freshman at Hogwarts. He predicted something simple: the answer to a question on a test, nothing revolutionary.

But then he started seeing prophecies of Darkness. Things that aren’t supposed to happen, things that older witches and wizards warn young ones about. The thing is, Gellert was never perturbed by these visions. In fact, he began to see the beauty behind the Dark teachings - the wonderful, exquisite world of the Dark Arts. They all rang true. Why should wizards conceal their power and hide among muggles? Why bow down to lesser wizards when he could create a benevolent system using his own strength? The attraction of the lore, the potential for unlimited power... The Dark Arts had seduced him and he had fallen hard.

That's when he learned of the Deathly Hallows – three powerful objects created by Death himself.

Gellert started immersing himself into finding these objects, no matter what the cost.

Obsessed with power, he spent the next six years of his school life researching in the Hogwarts library, travelling to other countries, and making "friends" in high places. Manipulation and coercion came easy to him, like a sixth sense. Nobody thought to defy him, and nobody could. He mastered the art of apparition and learned to perform basic wandless magic. With these skills he managed to discover that there lies an item hidden deep within the Dark Forest that could possibly be the key to finding the Deathly Hallows.

And that is precisely why he needs Percival Graves and that locket of his.

Gellert knew it wouldn’t be all that simple. He needed to build a reputation, first. After all, the boy comes from a long line of Aurors who specialize in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He's talented, quick-witted, and calculating. It doesn't hurt that he's also _very_ good looking. What with his strikingly bold brows paired with those doe-eyes and milky skin, Gellert would have lured him in even without the incentive. But Percival’s young. He’s in the prime stages of puberty and, although book smart, he’s quite naïve – something Gellert can easily exploit.

It’s a simple game of cat and mouse, really. He’ll manipulate the boy into falling in love with him. Plain and easy. Graves are known to be loyal - they’ll devote themselves to those with any form of authority over them. That's why they're such perfect Aurors. Even Gellert admits it’s a little harsh, but then again - it’s all for the sake of the greater good. With a wizard like that, he’s almost guaranteed to get exactly what he wants. Now that he thinks about it, it's a shame he won't be keeping him. Gellert supposes he'll only be good for this instance.

It may have been pure coincidence that the Graves received a letter from Hogwarts, inviting their son to study at the school for his fifth year, or… it may not have been.

Flirting was the most difficult part, but the timing of the Yule Ball couldn’t have been more perfect.

The whole incident outside of the school was just for show, of course. Gellert wasn’t planning on dragging Percival into the forest at all. It was to scare him, assert power over him, show him who was boss. But it was mostly to scare the Professors and the Headmaster. If he managed to endanger Percival’s life by threatening him with Dark forces, the Headmaster would be forced to notify his parents. But because they wouldn’t want to cause an uproar on there being Dark magic present in the school, they would have to keep it inconspicuous and beg Percival’s parents to let him stay at Hogwarts.

Percival, being the stubborn little boy he is, would persevere through whatever comes his way, and the Graves would have to gift him with something that will protect their precious son.

Now, Gellert’s read about the locket before, in the restricted section of the library. The book was titled, 'American Wizardry: Powerful Knick Knacks and Trinkets.' The name of the book was unnecessarily childish, which is probably why most people have never read it before. The locket is an ancient relic passed down by members of the Graves family for generations. An item perfectly suited for what Gellert has in mind.

It’s all coming together now.

—

“I’m going to be late,” Percival says, hushed yet annoyed.

Gellert ignores him and presses kisses down his neck and collarbone, hands roaming along the younger boy’s sides. He licks and bites, sucking until Percival’s skin is peppered in red. The younger boy squirms beneath him.

It’s break period and they’re pressed up against a book shelf in the library, robes and ties discarded on the floor. Spines of several books dig into Percival’s back, leaving marks and indentations, but all he can concentrate on is how every single part of his body burns when the older boy touches him. He moans softly when Gellert slips a hand under his shirt and fondles his chest.

“Skip class and stay with me. I can do more than just kiss you,” Gellert breathes against his neck. Percival’s face heats up.

“I can’t. My parents –”

“Enough about your parents. You’ve missed me, haven’t you? And Merlin _knows_ how much I’ve missed you,” Gellert always speaks with a razor-sharp tongue, frightening Percival. He pecks Percival’s cheek and combs his hair lovingly.

It’s so hard to say no to Gellert, especially when the older boy is so intimidating. Percival always feels like he’s compelled to agree, to give into his demands. He doesn’t know whether he really wants to or if his mind is just trying to help him survive. Biting his lip, Percival calms himself down and drums up the courage to refuse Gellert. Maybe he’ll be okay with it just this once.

Percival shakes his head and stares at the floor. “Next time. I have to go to class.”

Gellert narrows his eyes and Percival panics. His breath catches in his throat and his heart thumps intensely – but then the older boy smiles and Percival’s weak in the knees. Slowly, he breathes a stuttered sigh of relief.

“You’re right. Wouldn’t want to anger your parents, now would we? But let me kiss you until you _really_ have to leave.”

“A - Alright.”

It’s slow and intense, the way Gellert kisses him, as if he wants to devour Percival’s soul, conquer him completely. He holds Percival’s face with both hands and traces the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

Percival shrinks into him, trying his best to respond.

His eyes shoot open when his lower lip is suddenly pierced between teeth and he pushes Gellert away. The older boy doesn't even flinch. Shaking, Percival brings a hand to his lips. They’re swollen, wet and parched at the same time, but most importantly – they’re bleeding. It stings when he presses a finger to the cut.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” Gellert looks at him with a provoking stare, like he’s trying to see how Percival will react. “I can’t seem to control myself when I’m around you.”

Normally, he’d be furious – so angry that he’d be unable to speak. Red flashes through his mind but then he looks up at Gellert and his flight response nearly kicks in. The older boy’s glaring at him, looking as if he’ll strike Percival if he doesn’t forgive him. His heart sits impossibly still.

“No. It’s okay,” Percival says, shaking his head cautiously.

“A simple healing spell should fix it.”

“No, no thanks,” Percival’s still shaking his head. “I think I’ll just go to class now.”

Gellert doesn’t respond, his face unreadable as he pecks Percival on the cheek and he helps him put on his robe. He whispers in Percival’s ear – _I’ll see you soon._

It’s always the same. Gellert’s never really physically present, but he’ll see Percival soon. All of Hogwarts is searching for him, after all. Still, he tells Percival he’s watching him, he always is and always will be. And of course, this puts Percival right at ease.

He hears a pop as he leaves through the library doors. Gellert’s probably disapparated back to his hiding spot, wherever that is. Percival chews his lower lip as he dashes down the halls and corridors, ignoring the pain in favor of pleasure. He allows himself to feel a little happy, to crack a small smile now that he’s alone. Picking up his pace, he hugs his books closer to his chest and thinks about when Gellert came back.

The Slytherin showed up in his dorm room the evening after classes resumed. The first thing Gellert did when he saw Percival was hug him. He pressed the younger boy against the wall and held him until his arms hurt. Although he didn’t show it, Percival was elated. He’d thought about Gellert for the remainder of his holiday break. Where is he? Is he okay? Will he come back for Percival?

He got his answers that night.

They only hugged, but it had been more intimate than the kissing, and even more than the touching. Gellert embraced him, inhaling his scent as he assured Percival that he’d never leave his side.

“You know by now that I’m always watching you.”

“I know.”

It’s the first relationship he’s ever been in, and he wants it to be a good one. Gellert’s positively insane, yes, but there’s something about him that Percival can’t quite escape from. He nearly stumbles as he thinks about him, but catches himself and slips into the classroom after regaining his composure.

Thankfully class hasn’t started yet, so Percival runs to the empty seat beside Newt just before the Professor turns to face the class.

“Usually you’re the first one here. What happened?” Newt whispers, looking at Percival from the corner of his eyes.

“Nothing,” Percival says. “I got caught up with something in the library.”

Newt hums, unconvinced. “I don’t want to sound rude, but it feels like you’ve been avoiding me lately. Is there something wrong?”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

Newt looks like he’s at a loss for words. He twists his head to respond to Percival, but gasps when he catches sight of his friend’s lip.

“Percival, why are you bleeding?”

Shocked, Percival turns away. He’d forgotten about his lip.

“ _Episkey_ ,” he whispers after quickly pulling out his wand. Heat tickles his lip as it mends itself together and then it cools back down. Cracks of dried blood dissolve until there’s no trace of injury left.

“I will _not_ pretend I didn’t see that,” Newt says, disappointed.

“I’m not asking you to,” Percival hisses.

Annoyed with each other, both boys turn to face the front and sit in silence. Newt fidgets in his seat, picking at his quill before leaning in to whisper.

“Was it Gellert Grindelwald?”

The Professor suddenly thwacks her wand against their desk.

“Mr. Graves. Mr. Scamander. You boys seem to be talking about something much more interesting than the Giant Wars of the nineteenth century. Care to share?” She asks before gesturing to the students around them. “I’m sure the whole class would love to hear.”

Perfect. They’ve managed to piss off their strictest Professor. She’s alarming in all ways. The wrinkles on her cheeks flap as she talks and her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. Her voice is shrill and piercing and she’s incredibly tall. It’s hard not to stare, but both boys look down and shake their heads, embarrassment filling them both as the rest of the students glare at them.

“You’ve interrupted a very important lecture. So – who will come forward to take the blame? Come now, or I will deduct points from both of your houses. Who started talking first?”

They stay silent.

“Well, then. It looks like I’ll be deducting twenty-five points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.”

Groans are heard around the room.

“It was me,” Percival blurts.

The Professor raises an eyebrow at him, and then smiles.

“Thank you for the _refreshing_ honesty, Mr. Graves. Since I’m feeling generous today, instead of losing points, you’ll be serving one session of detention with Carpe, the school’s caretaker. It’ll be up to him what your punishment will be, but I’m sure it won’t be too different from his day to day work,” her tone is mocking. “Now, I’m sure there won’t be any more interruptions for the rest of my lectures.”

Newt hangs his head as the other students snicker around them.

“You didn’t have to do that… It was my fault,” he says softly.

Percival isn’t exactly sure what he’ll get out of ignoring Newt, but he does it anyways. In fact, he makes a point out of it. Never once does he turn his attention away from the Professor. The boys don’t talk for the rest of class and walk their separate ways when it’s over.

—

“You missed a spot,” Carpe says. His voice is rough like a calloused hand.

Detention involves bathrooms – dirty ones.

Carpe makes him mop and scrub an entire floor’s worth of bathrooms. Percival really doesn’t think that talking during a lecture warrants a punishment like this, but then he remembers how uptight the Professor is. And then he thinks about her flapping wrinkles and saggy cheeks and he shudders.

It’s past after hours.

“This way I can work without students comin’ in and ruinin’ the floors,” the caretaker had said.

Percival’s only a little scared – more of the caretaker than anything that could happen after curfew. So he secretly conjures up a simple spell to help combat the stench of the toilets and continues cleaning. The way the mop moves is hypnotizing. He swishes it back and forth across the tiled floor, doing nothing but moving dirt from one place to another. He thinks about Newt. Why can't he just mind his own business? Percival knows how much Newt dislikes Gellert, but a real friend wouldn't hate who he chooses to date. Even though Gellert's a little mean, he looks out for Percival. He can't believe that Newt can't see that.

Carpe clears his throat to catch Percival's attention.

“Listen. I’ll be right outside cleanin’ the hall. Don’t think of pullin’ anythin' stupid. I can give you an entire week’s worth of detention if I wanted to,” Carpe grunts.

Percival rolls his eyes, but nods. He watches as Carpe slowly trudges out of the bathroom and into the hall. As soon as he leaves, Percival drops the mop and sits on the cold tiles, leaned against the wall. Rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes, he allows himself a few minutes of rest. Janitorial work is way more tiring than he thought it would be. The house elves always make it look so easy.

A familiar chill creeps into the room and Percival lights up. Quickly, he stands, unable to conceal his excitement.

“Gellert? Is that you?”

Arms suddenly wrap around him and he’s engulfed in warmth. Gellert’s hair tickles the side of his face.

“I’ve waited so long to see you, Percy,” he breathes into the crook of Percival’s neck.

Gellert moves in to kiss him, but Percival jerks back.

“Wait. Not here. The caretaker –”

“Taken care of. A little Petrificus Totalus never hurt anyone,” Gellert says, smiling before leaning in once again.

Percival doesn’t jerk back this time. He moves forward and eases into the older boy’s hold, fluttering his eyes shut and kissing back eagerly. It goes on like that for a while. An even pace, steady and almost calming. He feels a pressure in between his legs as Gellert presses him up against the wall. The older boy gently kneads his knee into Percival’s crotch, his foot rolling up Percival’s pant leg. Gellert's knee pushes harder, and harder, and Percival can feel himself heating up. Fingers creep into his hair, scraping his scalp lightly as Gellert sucks on his lower lip. The younger boy shudders.

“What if someone comes in?” Percival blurts without thinking.

Gellert chuckles, low. “Why? Afraid to be seen with me?”

Percival hesitates because, yes, he is afraid. But before he can answer, Gellert sinks to his knees and unbuckles the front of Percival’s trousers.

He panics.

“Wait! Are – are you sure?” Percival tries to cover himself with his hands, face colored red in embarrassment.

“Just trust me, Percy,” Gellert says sharply as he pushes his hands away.

It’s a blur, then. He blinks rapidly as Gellert takes him into his mouth. It’s an entirely new sensation, of heat and pleasure. He tries hard not to let a sound escape from his mouth, biting his lower lip and grinding his teeth – doing just about anything not to embarrass himself. Gellert takes more of him in, reaching the base, and Percival has to clamp both hands over his mouth to bury a string of stuttered moans.

Eyes squeezed shut, Percival doesn’t move his hands, not knowing where to place them. He keeps still, scared he’ll anger Gellert by doing something he isn’t supposed do. And the thing is, he really doesn't know what to do. This is the first time anything like this has ever happened. Deeply, he breathes in through his nose as Gellert continues. He can't comprehend what the older boy is doing, and he doesn’t dare look down.

He clenches his muscles, stomach tightening and body shivering.

Gellert’s mouth is promptly replaced by his hand and he finishes Percival off like that, stroking quickly until Percival releases on the floor with a strained moan.

Drained, Percival slides down until he’s crumpled on the floor. Gellert helps clean him, as per usual, and even removes whatever’s on the floor. But just like last time, the older boy looks wholly intact and, if Percival’s being honest, flawless. So flawless that shame immediately takes over Percival. What does a boy like Gellert see in him? Again, he tries to offer himself to Gellert, to _return the favor_ , so to speak – but just like last time, Gellert refuses.

It’s quiet.

The only sound present in the room is the shuffling of fabric as both boys adjust themselves. Gellert squats in front of him, but now that Percival’s sitting down, he looks tall and intimidating again.

“Do you not let me do anything for you because you think I’m no good at it?” Percival asks before he can stop himself.

Gellert looks at him with a raised brow. “No. My will is simply stronger than yours.”

“But it isn’t fair,” Percival says. “It’s not fair that I get to feel all these things but you don’t.”

A strange feeling wells up inside him when Gellert smiles. His eyes turn cold and his smirk resembles those of gargoyles. “Actually… I _do_ have something you could do for me.”

“…What is it?”

“Remember our first night together? How I needed you to retrieve me something from the Dark Forest?” Gellert asks. 

Percival doesn’t like where this is going. He swallows. “Yeah.”

“Do that for me and I won’t think anything of your reluctance to return the favor.”

Reluctance? Percival stares at Gellert with wide eyes. “What? No, I –”

Gellert suddenly grabs Percival’s wrist. His grip is so tight that his nails dig into Percival’s skin, making him gasp. “I pleasured you. I gave you _so much_. Isn’t it your wish to give me something in return?”

Tears burn the back of his eyes, threatening to spill if he blinks. Percival tries to pry himself out of Gellert’s grasp but he’s just too strong. His bones feel as if they’re being crushed.

“I could get expelled,” his voice cracks.

Gellert lets go and Percival is nearly flung backwards.

“Fine. Seeing as you can’t handle this simple task by yourself, I’ll go with you,” Gellert says, like all of this is Percival’s fault. He grabs a hold of Percival’s wrist again, but this time he brings it up to his mouth and kisses it, softly. “I give and give, and I never take. I’m not asking much of you, Percy. I thought you _liked_ me.”

Percival’s so confused he wants to cry. Instead, he nods silently, unsure of what exactly he’s nodding in response to. Gellert strokes his hair and wipes away the tears forming at his eyes. He can only watch as Gellert presses a lengthy kiss against each mark, against each of the small bruises forming on his wrist. The red hand mark is a stark contrast to his pale skin, alarming him.

And Percival wishes, so bad, that he was stronger.

—

It was all much too easy.

Percival Graves might actually be in love with him, the poor kid. He’s falling much quicker than expected, which is good nonetheless. Perfect, actually. He learns that the younger boy is easily persuaded by words, by affection and touch. Percy loves the idea of being loved – of being wanted. Gellert has no idea how Percival’s relationship with his father is, but he thinks it might have something to do with his eager response to an authoritative male figure. He makes a mental note to thank Percival’s father later.

Watching Percy cry, watching the confusion flash across his face, was too much for Gellert to handle. He had to will himself not to do anything more than kissing or touching. It surprisingly takes much more skill than wandless magic, but he endures it – he endures the desire and want because he _has_ to.

It’s all for the greater good, he has to remind himself constantly.

—

Gellert _apparates_ into his room at midnight. His face stern and posture stiff.

“Are you ready?”

Yes, Percival nods.

“And the locket. Are you wearing it?”

Percival blinks.

“Oh, don’t be stupid. I know all about that locket of yours,” Gellert says. “Now – are you wearing the locket?” He places emphasis on each word.

“Yes.”

He clings onto Gellert’s arm, shaking as they _disapparate_. The second time is better than the first, but not much so. Nausea overtakes him when they arrive in front of the Dark forest and he gags. Gellert kindly waits for him to recover and then pulls him into the forest by his wrist, his fingers pushing into the same bruises he left the night before. Percival winces.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Gellert lights his wand and then gestures for Percival to do the same.

They walk with caution, stepping over large roots and avoiding insects. The trees tend to move, swinging their heavy branches overtop their heads. It’s hard for Percival not to twist and turn his head at every sound, at every howl of the wind. Even with their illuminated wands, it’s hard to see anything when the dense fog clouds their vision.

Halfway through the forest, Gellert stops and pulls out a small knife. Had he always had that? Percival wonders.

“Give me your finger,” he says.

Before Percival can even think to refuse him, Gellert pulls his hand away from his body and forcefully unclenches his fist. The older boy exhales, like he knew Percival would try to fight him about it.

“This is for _our_ safety, Percy. It’s what your parents wanted, right? For you to stay safe in a school infested with Dark forces?” Gellert says, creating a shallow cut in Percival’s index finger. Percival clenches his jaw and lets out a small noise of discomfort. “I want to protect you and if this is the best way, then so be it.”

He pushes the front of Percival’s robe aside, revealing the locket. It rattles against Percival’s chest as his bloodied finger gets closer. Once his finger makes contact, the locket swallows the blood and starts to click. In a flash, a ward is placed over the both of them – blue and transparent.

“How curious,” Gellert says, examining the ward.

Percival clears his throat. “So… what exactly are we looking for?”

“What we’re looking for is a compass. Legend has it that inside of the compass is a portion of the soul of the man who currently possesses the Elder Wand. The compass will direct its user back to him and destroy itself once it completes its purpose,” Gellert says as they walk deeper into the forest.

The Elder Wand… Percival remembers briefly learning about it during Defence Against the Dark Arts, but never had a chance to look more into it. But he does know that it’s an incredibly Dark item, something extremely powerful and wicked.

But what does Gellert want with it?

On second thought, he doesn’t want to know.

The ward suddenly makes a noise, similar to the sound it makes when you pop your ears, and both boys turn to the source. A bugbear claws at the ward, screeching as it dissolves. Percival almost feels sorry for it. He turns to see Gellert smiling widely. “It's magnificent.”

Curiously, the darkness surrounding them becomes even darker, and even colder. This is it – the depths of the forbidden forest. As they walk, the ward continues to protect them, deflecting attacks from evil creatures and defending them against the intense strain of the darkness. There’s an eerie glow coming from the trunk of a dead tree, not too far away from them. The boys walk closer, and then Gellert breaks into a run, pulling Percival along with him.

It’s the compass.

“There it is.”

They suddenly come to a halt when hundreds of acromantulas climb down from the tops of the trees, surrounding the compass, guarding it. Several of them jump to attack, only to be killed by the ward. A hoard of others stay stationed at the base of the dead tree.

Gellert curses as he points his wand. “ _Arania Exumai_!”

The spell blasts back a group of the acromantulas with a stream of bright blue light, scorching the spiders as they’re flung into the air.

“A little help, Percy?” Gellert yells.

Percival nods and shouts the same spell. Although he doesn’t agree with what Gellert is doing, he figures that if he doesn’t help, Gellert would do much worse to him than he’s doing to these creatures. It takes them a while but they manage to fight off the arachnids and reach the compass. Thanks to the ward, they come out of the battle without injury.

Once they make sure the area’s free of other Dark creatures, Gellert pushes past Percival and with his wand, he points at the branches weaved around the compass. “ _Reducto_.”

Smirking, Gellert grabs the compass and turns, pointing his wand at Percival.

“Wait, Gellert. No –” Percival says, alarmed. _He’s going to kill me._ Percival holds both hands up and shuts his eyes, expecting the worst. 

But it doesn’t come.

“ _Geminio_ ,” Gellert whispers.

Percival’s locket shakes violently, pattering against his chest, and then it duplicates itself – an exact copy. Gellert summons it towards him and then throws it around his neck. Percival’s ward falters and fades slightly, shrinking in size.

“Thanks for everything, Percy. I hope this was as much fun for you as it was for me,” Gellert says as he pockets the compass. “I do hope we get to see each other again.” He _disapparates_ , leaving Percival in the depths of the forbidden forest – alone.

“Wait!” Percival goes after him, hoping he can jump into Gellert's disapparition but he falls flat onto the ground. His chin digs into the dirt and he nearly dislocates his jaw.

Fear hits the back of his throat. It burns.

Panting, Percival’s instincts kick in, telling him to make a run for it. And he does. He sprints in the direction they came from, legs jumbling over each other as he tries desperately to escape. Darkness overcomes him. The forest shrieks and bellows, haunting him. His mind has yet to catch up to his body, but he tells himself not to cry, not to scream in agony because Gellert left him in the Dark forest alone. 

Gellert used him, and he used him so well.

He remembers apparition classes in the Great Hall, but he knows he hasn’t been to enough of them to do it right. In fact, the last time he was there he could only watch as the older students teleported across the room, smiling as they did so. The Professor told them how disastrous apparition is if not done properly – practice makes perfect.

But he just can’t find a way out of this forest. Every tree, every patch of grass looks exactly the same in the dark. It’s frightening being in here, all alone. Percival sniffs. He’s scared.

Pressing a hand to his chest, he squeezes his heart, trying to stop it from beating so violently. Concentrating on the silence, Percival breathes slowly and makes his decision.

Apparition will have to do.

He slows down and holds his wand out in front of him. Percival closes his eyes and tries to recall his dorm room, how it looks and how it feels. The air around him swirls, particles of dust and dirt mix together. His heart throbs loudly and cold sweat dribbles down the sides of his face. Everything moves in slow motion. Recklessness rushes him, and then he tries it. 

Out of nowhere, he’s propelled forward by an invisible force and his arm twists painfully, as if it’s being sucked into a black hole. Percival screams and falls to the ground, clutching his arm. He failed. His only chance at escape and he’s failed. Tears spill out of his eyes and he sobs at the unbearable ache that spreads from his arm to his shoulder. 

Even magic insists on tearing him down.

Twitching and shivering, Percival wonders idly, if he’s going to die. It’s not fair, he thinks. None of this is his fault. And while he curses Gellert for taking advantage of him and then leaving him alone in this hell, Percival can’t help but miss him. Is he still watching? Can he see Percival right now?

“Gellert…”

Slowly, the world fades away as he passes out from the pain.

—

“He – he left me. He left me all alone.”

“Who, Percival?”

“Where is he? I – I need him.”

“Who are you talking about? Who did this to you? Percival, please. Wake up,” Newt says, shaking his arm. “You’re safe now.”

His eyes burst open and the first thing he sees is Newt – a look of concern wrinkles his face. The pain in his arm burns incredibly and he groans, rolling on the ground as he holds onto his throbbing limb.

He’s still in the forest, but it’s now morning. Dew coats the grass and the sun has barely come up, casting a soft glow through the trees, warming him. His eyes are rimmed red and the bottom of his robes are battered and torn. Newt tries his best to help Percival with his injury by conjuring a numbing charm, which does nothing but dull the pain. Still, he’s grateful that Newt was able to find him. Wait, how did he find him?

“How did you find me?” He croaks.

Pickett peaks out of Newt’s scarf and looks down at Percival. He makes an odd ticking noise, and oddly enough, Percival can tell Pickett’s trying to reassure him. “Well, you see. There’s an entire colony of Bowtruckles living in the forest. Little Pickett here had a feeling something was wrong and dragged me out.”

Percival doesn’t know what to say.

He lets go of his injured arm, which is now number than before, and leans on his elbow. His cheeks numb from being pressed against cold, solid dirt. And he’s sweating beneath his robe, clothes stuck against his skin.

Newt’s looking at him with an unreadable expression. Is it pity? Is it remorse? Percival cocks his head.

“I’m sorry, Percival. About what happened during class last week. I didn’t mean to be so nosey. After the incident at the Yule Ball, I – I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” Newt says. “You are my friend, after all.”

Percival shakes his head and knits his eyebrows together.

“No, Newt. I’m the one who should be saying sorry,” he says. “All you were doing was looking out for me. I owe you that much.”

Newt smiles and helps Percival up. He stays silent but his actions speak louder than words ever will. Gently, he leans Percival against a tree and then tells him to stay put, that he’ll be right back with some help. When Newt stands to leave, Percival wants to tell him to stay. But then he realizes that he’ll need all the help he can get. So he lets Newt leave and then relaxes against the tree.

The morning air fills him with vigor and, for what feels like the first time, he’s able to see the forest for what it truly is. There are no dark creatures, no evil beings. No arachnids, no swinging trees. Just a lush, colorful forest that takes the form of a guardian during the day when it gets a break from being a warrior at night. Looking around, Percival finds his locket shattered on the ground, pieces of silver speckled across the dirt. He reaches for it, but only manages to pick up a couple of pieces. The cold silver reacts to his touch, glowing slightly and then fading before the metal rusts. It must have worn itself out protecting Percival through the night.

Then he remembers why he was in the forest in the first place.

Gellert had left him. He had used Percival and then thrown him away like a dirty rag. It suddenly turns cold and darkness descends upon him. He’s lost – both in his mind and in his heart. It hurts. Everything hurts. Percival wants someone to tell him how he should feel. He wants _Gellert_ to tell him.

—

_“I’ve missed you Percy.”_

Percival wakes up, gasping, drenched in his own sweat.

He’s been having dreams about Gellert every night for the past week. They’re sexual in nature, and always end the same – with Gellert leaving him. He whispers sweet nothings in Percival’s ear, promises to stay with him, to watch him, to protect him. But in the end, Gellert pushes him aside – tosses him out like he’s nothing, and then leaves.

This time his dream went differently. Gellert came back for him. He said he missed him. Naïvely, Percival believes this.

He shifts to lie on his side and inches his hand downwards, hesitating for a few seconds before wrapping it hastily around his cock. It’s the dead of the night and other students are asleep – he can’t afford to wake anyone with his noise. He takes the bottom of his shirt and stuffs it in his mouth.

_Gellert will come back. He has to._

Closing his eyes, he strokes himself. He runs his thumb over the head of his cock and squeezes tighter, mimicking Gellert’s movements from the night in the infirmary. His pants constrict him, so he pushes them down around his ankles and uses his other hand to touch his chest. He imagines that it’s Gellert doing all these things to him. Sweat coats his neck.

_Gellert’s always watching him, right?_

Kicking at the covers, Percival groans around the fabric in his mouth. The temperature of his body rises rapidly and his hand sets a pace to match. Scrunching his face in pleasure, Percival’s body trembles and little breaths slip from his lips. His chest heaves and stutters. The shirt becomes soaked in his own saliva and it dribbles down his chin as he gets closer to his climax. He keens.

“Gellert,” he whispers.

And then he’s coming, onto the bed and all over the sheets. His shirt falls out of his mouth and wrecked moans escape from the back of his throat. Stroking himself a few more times to ride out his orgasm, his mind fills with thoughts of Gellert.

It hits him like a ton of bricks and his heart drops to his stomach.

He’s in love with Gellert Grindelwald.

It’s not like he never knew. He always had. But he never let himself believe it, not until he realized that he was a fool for believing every single word that came out of Gellert’s mouth. Percival cries, his body wracked with sobs. He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around himself, ignoring the mess that’s on his bed. Percival wishes he had the strength, or even the will, to cast a silencing charm on his room. His cries fill the space, and he can only hope that no one can hear him weep.

—

He doesn’t see Gellert again for years.


	4. kiss me roughly and ruin my heart

They say that Monday mornings are always the worst. The fun, hassle-free weekend ends and the dull, boring work week begins. You’re no longer drunk on freedom and instead, you’re hungover from work.

But not for Percival. Percival _loves_ Mondays.

This is most likely because his work week never ends. But he doesn’t care. He loves his job. Aurors don’t get days off and they shouldn’t, not when safety is at stake. “Vacation” isn’t a part of their vocabulary. Weekends are just another set of days used to finish organizing files, to work on cases, or to fulfill some other tasks. Percival thrives in MACUSA. He just doesn’t see himself being anything other than an Auror.

After graduating from Ilvermorny as valedictorian, he was able to land an internship at MACUSA, which he did without any help from his father. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t seen his father for years. His father left his mother after Percival was sent to Hogwarts for his fifth year. Mrs. Graves apparently received the letter from Hogwarts at a very convenient time in her life and she was able to hide her divorce from Percival for an entire year. Of course, Percival was occupied with other things at the time, which is why he wasn’t able to sense the shift in his parents’ relationship.

Good riddance, he had thought back then. All his father ever did was take from his mother and he wasn’t very kind to Percival either. He always made him think his efforts weren't enough - not in school nor at home. His mother told him not to think too ill of his father, that he’ll understand when he grows up. But even now, Percival harbors hatred for him.

Upon successfully completing his internship, he was able to land a job as a Junior Auror, where he showed off his duelling skills and wandless magic. Senior Aurors were surprised to see such a talented young wizard and instantly warmed up to him, taking him under their wings. The President’s intern was so impressed by his performance that she managed to help him rise quickly up the ranks. The President’s intern was, predictably, Seraphina Picquery.

Right when she earned the position of President, Seraphina appointed Percival as her right-hand man and gave him the title of Director of Magical Security. This was ten years ago, but it still feels like it was just yesterday. He’s still as happy as he was when he was promoted – determined, bright, and ambitious, like nothing could tear him down. But even then, at one of the happiest points in his life, he would still think about his dreadful year in Europe.

There was never a day that went by when he didn’t think about _Him_.

Percival immersed himself into work, a vice morally better than alcohol or smoking, but not healthier. He made sure he was never alone for a second, mingling with other office heads, overseeing tasks, watching over subordinates. Any time alone would be time spent thinking about the unspeakable and he just couldn't let that happen.

Now, at thirty-five, he doesn’t think about Hogwarts anymore – at least, not the bad parts. The only good that school ever did for him was make his resume stand out from all the others. Percival does admit, though, that he still keeps in touch with Newt Scamander, who is apparently planning a trip to New York some time soon. Perhaps in a couple of months, he had said in his letter. Percival was glad to hear that Newt's still obsessed with magical creatures, and he was even happier to hear that Newt decided to make a career out of it. Although seeing Newt will bring back a few bad memories, he’s still excited to catch up with his dear old friend.

Walking up the stairs in the lobby, Percival greets his subordinates. Some are afraid of him – mostly because of his title and the authoritative air that surrounds him, but others admire him. Like Abernathy, who always seems to know exactly where he is and what he’s doing. The kid doesn’t really understand social cues. Either that or he ignores them. And then there’s Tina and Queenie Goldstein, two brilliant young witches with a diverse set of talents, always ready for action. 

“Good morning, Mr. Graves.”

“Morning, Queenie.”

“I picked up a cup of coffee for you – your favorite: with a shot of espresso,” Queenie says, smiling. Always so gentle, that Queenie.

“Thank you, Queenie,” Percival says, accepting the coffee. “Please tell your sister to come see me in my office this afternoon. I have a case for her.”

“Will do, Mr. Graves,” she waves.

He nods a goodbye before stepping into the elevator. Red, the goblin bellboy, greets him with a tip of his hat.

“Graves.”

“Red.”

With his long, button-pushing stick, Red presses the number indicating Percival’s floor and the elevator dings. They descend at an inhumane speed, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for a wizard and a goblin. Once they arrive, Percival throws Red a tip, “Say hello to Ruby for me.” Red grunts as the doors close.

His office is quite possibly his most favorite part of the Woolworth, and for good reason. It’s comfortable – he has everything he needs in one moderately sized space. For the longest time, he used to sleep right at his desk. But this was before he got used to his position. The amount of work involved in this job would drive even the strongest No-Maj insane.

Percival places the coffee on his desk and then peels off his heavy winter coat. With a flick of his wrist, the coat floats over to the coat rack and hangs itself on a knob. Sighing, he relaxes into his chair, preparing himself for a long day of work.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, making him jump in his seat. Tina rushes in, coat flying all over the place as she all but runs towards Percival.

“Mr. Graves, have you seen this?”

Immediately, Percival sits upright and clasps his hands together. “Tina. I thought I told your sister to tell you to see me in the afternoon.”

“Yes, but – Mr. Graves. You have to see this,” she slams the morning’s Daily Prophet down on Percival’s desk and points to the headline.

_GRINDELWALD STRIKES AGAIN IN EUROPE: IS HOGWARTS SAFE?_

_Grindelwald._ His heart drops to his stomach. “Who else knows about this?” It’s a dumb question, but it’s the only thing his mind can think to say as his eyes focus on the name in the paper. He tries his best to keep his composure, back stiff and muscles clenched.

“Well, just about everybody!” Tina stares at him in confusion. “Who knows when Grindelwald will invade America? He’s gone through half of Europe! And it’s only a matter of time the same anti-wizard sentiment starts showing up in America. Look – we’re already seeing it with the Second Salemers.”

“They’re just a cult. No No-Maj in the right mind is going to believe them,” he says, avoiding the real issue at hand. “Contact the Daily Prophet and tell them to recall these papers immediately.”

Tina exhales, exasperated.

“We need to take action _now_ , Mr. Graves. Please, sir. You have to believe me,” she pleads.

The thing is – Percival _does_ believe her. But if this spreads to civilian wizards and other American wizarding communities, it’ll cause a nationwide panic. Sadly, the witch hunt in New York is growing. Wizards are, frankly, terrible at hiding their powers and No-Majs are becoming more and more suspicious. The last thing MACUSA needs is a terror scare about the possibility of Gellert Grindelwald invading America.

“I’m sorry, Tina, but it’s best to keep this under wraps. Just until we can decide what to do with the threat.”

“That’s exactly what Madam President said…” she trails off.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Percival massages his temples and then picks up a folder, pushing it towards Tina. “Here – you might be interested in this case. The Second Salemers are apparently holding sermons now, in a small church on 16th. It’s a simple reconnaissance job and I figured you’d be the best pick, seeing as how you’re already investigating them on your own.”

Tina sighs dejectedly. "Thanks, Mr. Graves," she mumbles as she takes the folder and leaves his office, gently closing the door shut.

Percival waits until the room falls silent to stare at the paper in front of him. His eyes burn holes into the blurry moving photo as he analyzes every movement, every shape and line. There’s a tall, dark figure – no facial features or any other specifics can be seen. It moves, swinging its arm like it’s casting a dark, dark curse. And just as the paper states, it’s Gellert Grindelwald.

He has a brief flash of Gellert’s face, smiling as he twirls a lock of Percival’s hair in between his fingers. Percival clutches his chest, nails digging into his skin through the fabric. “You know by now that I’m always watching you,” he remembers Gellert saying. His heart burns and he winces, breathing raggedly like his lungs have just collapsed.

Even after twenty years, he’s still hurting.

Percival really thought he’d gotten over it – over _him_. But it’s like they say: you never forget your first love. Obviously, he tried. He went on dates afterwards, even had a few serious relationships, but the men were never as charming or dangerous as Gellert. It was the adrenaline that hooked him in – the fact that Gellert was never supposed to _be_ the nice, gentle, perfect boyfriend. It all made him feel like he was important because someone as smart and powerful as Gellert had chosen him. He knows now that their relationship was borderline abusive, but he can’t blame his younger self. He was sad... and lonely. And Gellert used that to his advantage.

Shaking his head, Percival forms a fist and presses it into his heart, like he’s trying to stop it from beating for just a few minutes. It’s unfair to fifteen-year old Percival to feel this way. He’s an adult now – a successful one, a strong one. He doesn’t need to feel this pain anymore.

Exhaling, Percival adjusts his shirt. With his index finger and his thumb, he lifts the newspaper and sets it down onto the floor in front of him.

“ _Incendio_ ,” he says, without lifting his wand. Flames swallow the paper, creating a ring of smoke as it burns. The smell of it isn’t as nauseating as the feeling in his stomach, so he steels himself as he stands there, watching as the only evidence of Gellert’s existence disappears.

The only thing he’s left with is a small pile of ashes.

—

If he discounts what happened in the morning, his Monday went fairly well.

He was able to get two days worth of work done in his attempt to ignore the whole Grindelwald issue. Work comes in handy when you need to ignore pain. Queenie dropped by his office a couple of times, offering him drinks and pastries, all of which he refused because sweets aren't exactly his thing. She's a Legilimens - she probably just wanted to make sure Percival was okay.

Tina found some valuable information regarding the Second Salemers and plans to go back to do some more research. She discovered that the brains of the operation is a rather peculiar woman by the name of Mary Lou Barebone. Apparently, she and her adopted children run the entire operation, circulating pamphlets and brainwashing orphans. Tina advised Percival that it’s best that they stop the anti-wizard sentiment at the origins than let it trickle into the brains of unsuspecting No-Majs. He agreed.

Percival thinks about making Tina a permanent addition to the Major Investigation team as he walks out of the Woolworth. Normally, he’d just apparate home but he thinks a good walk will help clear his head. The brisk winter air stings his cheeks, but it’s a welcomed feeling. White collar No-Majs spill out of their respective buildings and fill the streets, all cabbing or walking home now that the work day is over. Sometimes Percival likes to watch them. Their mundane lives seem so hard without magic.

For a split second he thinks about the fact that he would never have met Gellert if he were a No-Maj, but quickly dismisses the thought as he reaches his house. It’s a modest little brownstone in a calm neighborhood. His mother wanted him to inherit the mansion, but he decided against it. It’s just too much of a political statement – and not a good one.

He unlocks his door with a twist of his fingers and steps inside.

A familiar chill creeps around him, seeping into his skin. He shivers involuntarily and prays to Merlin that it isn't who he thinks it is.

“Director of Magical Security,” a deep voice drawls. “I knew you had it in you.”

Percival whips his head to find a man sitting in his armchair. He doesn’t need an introduction.

“Gellert…” Percival says.

The man looks almost unrecognizable, except for those same pair of chilling eyes. The coldness must have spread from his heart to the rest of his body, Percival thinks, because his skin is almost translucent and his hair is so blonde that it’s white. It’s cut sharp, shaved at the sides and spiked up front. He wears an expensive black suit made of thick fabric, flowing around his body. His face looks worn in - the once youthful attractiveness now settled into his skin and he’s still as charming and intimidating as ever. Percival stares blankly.

How did he find him?

“I thought you would have remembered. I’m always watching you,” Grindelwald says, as if he read Percival’s mind.

The thought of being civil quickly escapes from him. 

“Why are you here? You’re all over the newspapers. I know what you’ve done in Europe, Gellert. These – these merciless attacks and killings. What good are they for? Are they just another show of power for you? Like what you did to _me_?” Percival spits. “I should have known better.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were only fifteen, Percy.”

“Did you enjoy it? Did you like taking advantage of a fifteen-year-old boy – using him and then breaking him like he meant nothing to you?” Percival pulls his wand out and points it at Gellert, but the man doesn’t move.

“Is that what you’ve thought of me for all these years? I used and abused you?” Gellert sighs. “Aren’t I the reason why you’re where you are today? Imagine if I hadn’t pushed you to your limits. You’d be a lackey. MACUSA’s top pencil pusher, just like your father. I _made_ you.”

Percival tightens his grip and narrows his eyes. “All you did was hurt me.”

“If it wasn’t for me you’d be married to that idiot politician – Oh, what’s his name? Gunderson. The man can’t even apparate, Percival. You deserve so much better.”

Mort Gunderson… his most recent serious relationship. Gunderson was incredibly boring, one of the most boring wizards Percival has ever met. Even his name was boring. All he would talk about was his collection of No-Maj baseball cards, something no sane wizard would even bother to care about. Percival ended up breaking up with him because something told him that he could find better. And better, in his mind, always seems to mean Gellert.

“Why?” Percival asks. “Why did you keep watching me?”

“Because, Percy. I’m still in love with you,” Gellert says as he stands up and walks towards Percival. “Don’t you still love me?”

_Yes._

“Maybe I did twenty years ago, but not anymore, Gellert. You were horrible to me. You left me in that forest to die.”

“I could say the same for myself – twenty years ago I was only seventeen, nothing but an immature boy who was desperate for power. It was a mistake to leave you. But don’t you see? I have power now. I can create an empire just for wizards - just for _us_! We can control everything _together_. Join me,” Gellert embraces Percival. Percival lifts his arms like he's about to push Gellert away, but then something overcomes him. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax in Gellert’s arms. It all feels so natural, like Gellert never left. But then he realizes what Gellert’s saying and he pushes him away, clenching his wand again.

“No,” Percival says. “I should arrest you for even setting foot in America.” He opens his mouth to conjure a jinx or a curse.

But then Gellert smiles. It’s a recognizable expression. Percival remembers seeing it so often.

“You would never do that,” Gellert says, once again closing the space in between them. He brings a hand up to Percival’s head and twirls a lock of hair in between his fingers. “I’ve seen inside your mind – the way you think of me each time you sleep with another, the way I make your heart _burn_. I know everything about you.”

Percival’s mind is flooded with new memories of Gellert. He just doesn’t know if his heart is making them up or if Gellert’s the one implanting them.

“We would be _invincible_ , Percy.”

A little voice in the back of his mind tells him not to give in, not to fall for his tricks again, but he finds himself closing his eyes as Gellert leans down to kiss him. The voice screams, yells at Percival for being so _weak_. And he knows – he knows he’s weak.

 _He hurt you_ , the voice tells him. 

Gellert’s rougher than he remembers. His lips are chapped and broken as they fit against Percival's, teeth and tongues battling. Everything about him is cold. His fingers send shivers up Percival’s spine when they slip under the bottom of his shirt, ghosting along his sides.

_You can’t do this._

Without parting from Gellert’s lips, Percival unbuttons his vest and then his shirt, throwing them both on the floor haphazardly. Gellert takes this opportunity to kiss the side of his jaw, and then his neck, and then he’s moving his mouth downwards as he thumbs Percival’s nipples. Every hair on Percival’s body rises and all he can do is breathe heavily, raggedly, as he tries not to make a sound. If he does, he knows he’ll sound desperate and eager – and that’s the last thing Percival wants right now.

_You loathe Gellert. Don’t forgive him for what he did to you._

“I know,” Percival breathes, trying to calm his conscience. Gellert either ignores him or knows that he’s talking to the voice inside his head.

Gellert takes his own shirt off and unbuckles Percival’s trousers as he closes his mouth around Percival's nipple. He teases him, teeth grazing against it. Percival gasps and then hisses. His hands shake as they lift themselves into Gellert’s hair, fingers clenching the locks. Gellert slides his hand over Percival’s drawers, palming him through the already damp material. He traces the outline of Percival's cock with his thumb and smirks when he shudders.

“Let’s take this into the bedroom, shall we?”

Percival nods hurriedly without opening his eyes.

He’s pulled into Gellert’s _disapparition_ , which he can now handle with the utmost ease. The room is impossibly black, but he thinks nothing of it. Gellert pushes Percival face down against the bed, making him reflexively grasp the sheets. Gellert massages his waist, hands gripping and grasping at his skin, repeating the motion until they reach his thighs. Percival instinctively raises his hips and immediately curses himself after.

“Someone’s eager,” Gellert says.

“It’s just been a while,” Percival says curtly.

Gellert only hums in response as he kneels, settling himself between Percival’s legs. Then he holds either side of Percival’s waist as he greedily presses kisses along the inside of his thighs, skin warm and soft. Percival exhales and steels himself against the side of the bed when Gellert trails his thumb along his hole. He does it so lightly that it's almost ticklish and Percival reluctantly squirms beneath him, embarrassed by the reaction of his body. 

Gellert whispers a spell, and Percival flinches when he's suddenly hit with cold liquid. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“Not very Director-like of you,” Gellert teases.

“Shut up.”

Gellert easily slips a finger into him, curling and uncurling, and then he adds another, unravelling Percival slowly. “ _Gellert_ ,” Percival says angrily – his own way of telling Gellert to speed up and Gellert listens. He increases the speed of his thrusts, his own breathing coming out irregular and ragged as he watches Percival’s body clench and shake. He fingers Percival like that for a while, both men silent. Short breaths and the squelching of skin against skin are the only sounds present in the room. Gellert withdraws his fingers without warning, earning a sharp hiss from Percival.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Gellert asks. He lines his cock up against Percival's hole, trailing it along the muscle, trying his best not to push in.

The question reminds Percival of the first time they kissed. He turns his head to look back at Gellert and he nods.

“ _Yes_.”

Gellert pushes into Percival with a groan and begins to fuck him hard, rough. Percival winces as he lets out a trembling breath. He shouldn’t have been so eager. He grips the sheets harder, knuckles turning white as Gellert’s cock stretches him wide, burying deeper and deeper every time he thrusts. Gellert leans down and nips Percival’s ear with sharp teeth, and then he licks down the side of his neck and bites him on the shoulder. Percival moans, relishing both the pain and the pleasure.

“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Gellert rasps.

 _Then why did you leave me?_ Percival wants to ask. Instead he says, “Fuck you.”

Gellert chuckles and sighs against Percival’s skin, but stays silent.

Percival grunts and pushes back against Gellert, urging him to go faster. He forgets himself completely, face pressed against the bed as Gellert rocks forward. A hand creeps around hips and latches itself onto Percival’s cock, which is angry and red and wet. Gellert pumps Percival in time with his thrusts, using what’s leaking from the tip to help him along. Teasingly, he tightens his grip at the base and Percival lurches forward involuntarily.

There's a dull pain in his lower back, but he doesn't care. Not when Gellert's cock - hot and thick, fills him completely full. Gellert switches from bites to kisses and back to bites again, leaving marks of red and purple along this entire back. Percival aches, his body still unadjusted to the stretch and it hurts, but in a good way.

Gellert uses his other arm to bring Percival even closer and pounds into him with short, angled thrusts. Percival’s cheeks are stained red and he can only let out a stream of incoherent curses and words that, when stringed together, sound a lot like he’s begging Gellert to let him come.

The thrusts speed up and Percival’s body burns. “Please,” he discards his dignity to say.

At first, Gellert doesn't listen. His mind preoccupied with pumping himself with Percival's body - unable to control the pace of his fucking. But then he moans when he hears Percival begging him for release. And he's so close. He thrusts harder, deep and steady, all the way to the hilt.

Gellert comes at the sight of Percival’s desperate pleading, emptying himself into the heat and filling Percival with a rush. He pulls out and watches as come leaks out from him. Percival, with his tousled hair and sweat slicked face, looks rather youthful. The heat from his body and the slack, open-mouthed expression on his face reminds him of all the times he undid Percival in the past. Percival looks at him through half-closed lids and begs again, " _Gellert, please_ ," and then Gellert strokes him quickly, until he comes in short spurts, onto the sheets.

“Percy,” he murmurs as he kisses Percival’s back.

He twists Percival’s pliable body until they face each other, lying on the bed, and kisses him long and slow. Intimately, he brings his thumb to Percival's face and slips it into his mouth. Percival closes his mouth and tongues Gellert's thumb.

Percival opens his eyes when Gellert pulls his thumb out. He shudders at the way Gellert caresses his face, smearing his own saliva over his cheek. And he lets himself be used like this, like a clean rag begging to be dirtied. He misses the way Gellert would dominate him. He _craves_ it.

“See, Percy? You _need_ me. This could be our life if you join me.”

The post-orgasm bliss starts to die down and all of a sudden, the room isn’t so dark anymore. The lights are dim but they’re enough for Percival to see that they’re not in his house anymore. The room is eerily empty save for a bed and a drawer on the side. It’s a bedroom, but it’s not his. He pushes Gellert off of him and sits up.

“Where are we?” Percival demands.

“Don’t worry. We’re still in the same city, just a different part of it,” Gellert says calmly. “You won’t be needing that house of yours anymore, not when we live together.”

Percival looks everywhere for his wand and his clothes, but he comes up short.

“I already told you I won’t be joining you, Gellert.”

Gellert narrows his eyes and stands. Swiftly, he dresses himself with magic and his clothes fit around him with ease. Percival feels more naked than he’s ever been.

Panic starts to settle in and Percival can’t believe he’s been tricked again. Lied to by the same man who broke his heart twenty years ago. He told himself he knew better, that Gellert would do the same thing again. But of course, he’s stubborn and always has to prove others wrong, including himself.

“You still feel nothing? Even after all of _this_?” Gellert grabs a hold of his chin. “Why can’t you just accept your love for me?”

“What you’re doing isn’t _love_ , Gellert,” Percival grips Gellert’s wrist and tears his hand away from his face. “I’m leaving.”

Percival tries to disapparate back home. The air around him swirls and the ground rumbles but else nothing happens.

“It won’t work. I’ve placed wards around this place and the room only responds to my magic,” Gellert says. “The things I do for you...” he shakes his head, looking at Percival with disdain.

“You… you’ve kidnapped me.”

“You came with me willingly.”

“Gellert,” Percival says sternly. “Let me go this instant.” He doesn’t sound all too convincing, mainly because he’s been stripped of his magic and his dignity. He also doesn’t know where to go. Percival moves backwards on the bed until his back presses against the wall.

In a moment of desperation, Percival separates himself from reality. In another life, he could find himself being happy with Gellert. He'd listen to him, obey his every whim and go forth with his plan to rule the world. They'd live in a magnificent house, have servants cater to them and do everything they say. And the power - _oh_ , the power. With Gellert and the Deathly Hallows, no witch or wizard would dare try to take them down. That would be what happiness with Gellert Grindelwald looks like. But Percival doesn't want that... he doesn't want anything close to that at all. Shaking his head, he snaps out of it. "I won't ever join you, not when all you do is manipulate me."

Percival's hope starts to flicker. He's running out of space to run as Gellert stalks closer.

“It feels like you’re testing me, Percival. Toying with my heart, playing me for a fool – refusing me after all I’ve given you,” he pulls a wand out of thin air. Percival gasps when he recognizes it. _The Elder Wand_. Gellert points it at him, the tip glowing a muted yellow.

“And you know how much I _hate_ to be refused.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with me through this whole fic.
> 
> In the beginning I wanted this to be happier, but I liked the idea of a tie-in to the movie/popular fanon and went with it.


End file.
